


i'm old enough to face the dawn

by firebirds



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Gwaine thinks Merlin is a Hot Piece, Humor, M/M, Merlin thinks Gwaine wants to eat him, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Naiads, loosely inspired by fablehaven, playing fast and loose with canon, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-25 05:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebirds/pseuds/firebirds
Summary: As far as Merlin is concerned, Gwaine is the perfect package. Aside from the fact that Gwaine probably wants to eat him whole. And not in a sexy way.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin hated summer. He hated everything about it: the sun beating down, transforming the back of his neck into a crimson wasteland; the salt-slick sweat dripping into his eyes, staining his clothes; the insects zipping around his ankles in the dense green underbrush, leaving his skin pocked with bites. 

But Merlin was a fair man and believed in bestowing blame where it was due. So he spared most of his hatred for Gaius, who, being not only indifferent but actively malevolent to Merlin’s well-being, was responsible for sending him into the primeval wilderness of Camelot’s meadows on a wild goose chase for Valerian root. Which, at this point, Merlin wasn’t even sure existed.

“Stupid Valerian root,” he muttered, kicking at a patch of particularly offensive wildflowers. “Stupid Gaius. And stupid Arthur!” he added for good measure, although Arthur was off hunting in the forest with his knights and had nothing whatsoever to do with Merlin’s predicament. 

Merlin swept the moisture off his forehead with the back of his hand and wondered if this was how he was going to die. Not off saving Arthur from the endless horde of horrors the world insisted on hurling at them, not even getting his head kicked in by an ill-tempered horse while mucking out the stables. He was going to melt into a puddle of Merlin-scented goop, and no one would ever be the wiser. 

Against all rhyme or reason, the afternoon grew hotter. Merlin decided to take his quest into the forest. Under the foliage, the heat abated into a simmering, humid warmth. He plunged deeper into the woods, guided by a nascent sense of dampness, coolness, which lingered somewhere just beyond his reach. 

Half-delirious and patching together a tirade against Gaius’ tyranny, Merlin didn’t notice that he was walking into a pond until his right foot plummeted into the cold water, sending concentric ripples outwards like echoes. Reeling back, Merlin’s heel slipped in the mud—and then he was arse-deep in it. Attempting to stand up, using his hands for balance, he immediately toppled forward, managing to land on his elbows. There was, apparently, some mercy in the world. He pushed himself up and sat back, defeated, on his heels. 

It took several minutes of wallowing for Merlin to remember that he had fallen in front of a pond and could easily clean himself up. He could hear Arthur’s voice—which, at this point, was an ingrained function of his psyche—ringing through his head: _So you_ ’ _re clumsy_ and _simple, Merlin. Will wonders ever cease?_

Merlin ignored this voice. 

Overhead, the branches of ancient trees stretched towards each other. Their shadows dappled the glimmering water.

Merlin leaned over the surface.

A man’s head popped out and said: “Hello there.”

Merlin shrieked. He flung a fistful of mud at the bobbing head and scuttled away from the water’s edge like an over-turned crustacean. 

“Well that’s no way to greet someone!” exclaimed the man, who had ducked under the surface just in time to escape Merlin’s projectile, resurfacing with a pout. He swam forward, resting his elbows on the shoreline, heedless of the mud. His gaze snagged on Merlin. 

Merlin cleared his throat. He'd had dreams like this before: absurdly handsome men emerging shirtless and dripping from the sea, rivulets of water running gold down sun-struck skin. Usually, in these dreams, Merlin didn’t have cold mud soaking through his trousers and into his underpants. 

The man drew his brows together, still staring and expectant. “Hello-o?” he drew the word out into a grin. “Anybody home?” 

Merlin felt like a deer caught in the cross-hatch of Arthur’s crossbow. The man looked normal enough, and no one could blame him for taking a dip in this weather. Then again, nothing in Camelot was ever as it seemed. Tenseness coiled in Merlin’s shoulders. He would be cautious and approach this situation with the professionalism expected of a sorcerer of his status. 

The man sighed. With a deft swipe of his hand, he shot a jet of water into Merlin’s face. 

“Hey!” cried Merlin. 

“He speaks!” crowed the man. “That was payback. Also, I was getting bored watching you watch me. So.” His smile etched a dimple into his left cheek. His voice lowered into a theatric tone of seduction. “What do they call you?” 

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “I’m…” He struggled to think of a believable fake name. “…Merlin,” he managed. Typical.

A hint of white teeth. “Pretty.” 

Perhaps this _was_ one of his dreams. Perhaps Merlin had succumbed to heat exhaustion hours ago and this was his brain gifting him with one last flash of glory before death. He tilted his head. No harm in entertaining a dream. “How about you?” 

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

“Try me.” 

The man opened his mouth and released a series of shrill, piercing squeaks in the same vein as wet, squelching shoes or fingernails on metal. At Merlin’s expression, the man laughed. He had a nice sort of laugh, bright and loud like it had no reason not to be. “You can call me Gwaine.” 

“Nice to meet you, Gwaine. Why are you in the water?” 

Gwaine looked at him as if Merlin had just asked him why the sky was blue, or why the sun rose in the east. “Because I live here,” he replied. 

“You live in the woods?” Merlin glanced aroundçhe hadn’t noticed any cottages nearby. 

“‘Course not. I live here, in the pond.” 

“Oh, right,” said Merlin, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Then—“Wait, what?”

Gwaine spoke in a rush, as if he was tired of all this idle small-talk. “I live in the water, all naiads do. Anyway—what brings you to my neck of the woods this fine afternoon? Care for a swim?”

Merlin’s mind ground to a halt. _Naiads._ Gaius had mentioned naiads once. Something about treacherous female water spirits pulling hapless men to bleak, watery deaths. 

“Aren’t all naiads supposed to be women?” Merlin asked, attempting to discreetly edge away from the water before Gwaine drowned him. He was _not_ going to die while scavenging for weeds. He didn’t want to imagine what atrocity Arthur would have engraved on his tombstone. _Died as he lived: Pathetically._

Gwaine seemed oblivious to Merlin’s inner turmoil. “Man, woman, it’s all the same to us.” He waved a hand. “I can make myself more feminine, if you prefer.” 

One inch after the other. Merlin would get out of this yet. “Er… no,” he replied absently, “you’re perfect the way you are.”

Gwaine preened. “Why, thank you.” 

Merlin forced himself to smile back. “Ha-ha. No problem.” He was almost there—Merlin heaved himself backwards—but fate had other plans. His shoe, unable to gain traction, slipped, and suddenly he was sliding forward, directly towards Gwaine. In a flurry of fear and whirling limbs, Merlin caught himself just in time, perilously close to the water’s edge. 

Gwaine drifted over, reaching out a hand—

“GAAAH!” Merlin screamed. He turned and crawled away from the pond as fast as he could, unconcerned with the dignity he left in shambles behind him. Once he had made it several meters away, he looked back at Gwaine. 

Gwaine had crossed his arms. His expression had soured, and he watched Merlin with accusing eyes. “Why are you running away from me?” He sounded ridiculously hurt.

Now that Merlin had a good running start, the belated shame of his bumbling escape caught up with him. “I wasn’t running away from you.”

A long silence. Merlin scratched the skin under his collar and avoided Gwaine’s gaze.

“You’re afraid I’m going to eat you, aren’t you?” 

“You were going to _eat_ me?”

Gwaine made an affronted noise, but Merlin was distracted by the rippling surface of the pond.

_He does look tasty,_ came a smooth, melodic voice as if from nowhere, quickly followed by spirited laughter like the tinkling of bells. The voice and the laughter had a submerged, underwater quality. 

Realization dawned. “You _were_ trying to eat me! You and your— _friends!_ ” If there was an inordinate amount of anger behind Merlin’s words, it was justified. It would be nice to be something other than the object of attempted murder, for once. A man got tired of playing the same role. 

“Ignore them!” Gwaine exclaimed, shooting a withering glare at the source of the voice. There was an indignant splash and more giggling before the pond became still once more. Gwaine blinked up at him through his lashes. “They just like to cause trouble. I wanted to talk to you, that’s all. Cross my heart.”

“Right,” said Merlin. He’d met whores with more subtlety, and even they had made Merlin feel like he was a very tiny mouthful, just waiting to be gobbled up. He stood, rubbing his muddy hands on his muddier trousers. “Well, I’d best be off.” 

“Already?!” Gwaine exclaimed, so loudly that Merlin jumped. “You’ll be back soon, won’t you? Merlin, I might die—” 

“What’s that?”

“—if you don’t come back. I’m serious. Serious as a—what’s serious to you humans?”

“Dying.” 

“Right! That’s how serious I am. Not that I would actually die, being immortal. It would be a symbolic death, from the sorrow of never seeing your face again.”

Merlin waited, but Gwaine was finished. From this angle, Merlin thought Gwaine looked remarkably like the dogs that roamed underfoot at feasts, pleading, wide-eyed, for scraps. 

Merlin sighed. “I promise I’ll think about it”—he held up a palm to stop Gwaine’s reply in its tracks—“ _if_ you tell me where I can find Valerian root.” Help was help, after all. 

“Easy. You do want to see me again, don’t you?” Gwaine beamed. “There.” He pointed with his chin. “Right behind you, growing by that tree. I’ll hold you to that promise, Merlin.”

Merlin turned. There, long green stalks crowned in clusters of pale pink flowers swayed in the warm breeze. Under the dark soil were the roots Gaius needed. “Those weren’t there before,” he said, but when he looked back, Gwaine was gone. The pond stared back at him; there wasn’t even a leaf marring its surface. 

Merlin returned to the castle, loaded down with a sack full of Valerian root and a promise. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur do what they do best: bicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 babeyyy

Merlin didn’t see Gwaine again for two weeks. 

He felt a little guilty about it, because Merlin was the sort of man who stuck to his word, and he _had_ promised Gwaine to at least think about visiting. But Arthur had returned from his hunting trip in extraordinary ill-humour, having caught nothing but a few rabbits and a massive head cold. In between running errands for Gaius and keeping up with Arthur’s increasingly exorbitant demands, Merlin barely had enough time to sleep and eat, let alone process what had happened in the woods. 

“…And after you clean my armour, don’t forget to muck out the stables.” 

“What?!” Merlin protested, hands stilling where they fiddled with Arthur’s breastplate. “I mucked out the stables yesterday.”

“That explains why they look even dirtier today.” 

Merlin yanked off the breastplate and started on the vambrace. “They look dirty because you insisted on training in the rain!” _And while you_ ’ _re still sick, at that,_ Merlin didn’t add, because it sounded an awful lot like concern and Arthur was insufferable enough as it was. 

Arthur raised a brow. “All the more reason to muck out the stables.” 

Merlin took a deep breath and very deliberately did not throw Arthur’s gauntlet in his smug, stupid face. “I’m going to set the stables on fire,” he muttered under his breath as he heaped Arthur’s armour into his arms.

Arthur stretched his limbs like a spoiled house cat, oblivious. A square of morning light spilled in from the window, gleaming gold where it caught on Arthur’s head. He looked so ridiculously relaxed Merlin was almost offended. 

The hulking mass of metal in Merlin’s arms wobbled. The armour piled so high he would have to look around it to see where he was going; the winding trip down to the armoury would kill him. Merlin thought glumly of his tombstone: _Died as he lived—Clumsily._

Arthur’s forehead creased as he watched Merlin. Then his features rearranged themselves into something resembling embarrassment. “Alright, Merlin. I realize I’ve been working you rather hard lately—“

“ _Lately._ ”

“—and seeing as how you somehow keep managing to do a worse job of things—“

“Now, hang on just a second—“

“—I’ve decided it would be good for morale—everyone’s morale, Merlin, you’re awful to be around when you’re in a mood—“

“When _I_ ’ _m_ in a mood!”

Arthur levelled him with a withering glare. Merlin considered his options and clammed up. 

“As I was saying.” Merlin resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Arthur’s tone. “I’ve decided to give you the next two days off to do whatever it is you do in your spare time. Gamble all your money away at the tavern, I suppose.” 

Merlin’s jaw dropped. Then he grinned. “You’re a good man, Arthur. Nay—a great one.” 

Arthur grimaced. “Ugh. Just go away, Merlin.” 

“Your generosity truly knows no bounds. To bless a lowly servant with the opportunity to lose his meagre savings—“

“I _will_ hit you.” 

Merlin snickered. He peered around the pile of armour in his arms and met Arthur’s gaze. “Seriously, though. Thank you.” 

Now Arthur really looked embarrassed. “Don’t mention it. Now leave me alone before I change my mind.”

“My liege,” Merlin said, in his smarmiest of tones. 

As Arthur’s door shut behind him, Merlin felt his newfound freedom stretching out before him. Two days. The possibilities were endless. 

———

Merlin spent the first night holed up in his room, alternating between sleeping and pretending to sleep whenever Gaius knocked on his door. On the second night, Merlin had indeed gone to the tavern, winning enough money to almost incite a minor riot. With overflowing pockets, Merlin stumbled out of the tavern on wobbly legs, drunk on victory and too many tankards of mead. Aside from a few scattered snippets of alleyway conversation, the village was silent. Behind him, the tavern was a roiling tangle of noise and chaos. 

As he muddled his way back to the castle, his thoughts landed on Gwaine. Did Gwaine even remember their conversation? Or had all his flirting been routine, a well-oiled machine for drawing in rubes like Merlin, who apparently thought being a murderous water spirit didn’t matter a whit if one had the face for it? 

Merlin had made it as far as the castle gates when he decided that obtaining answers to these questions was of the utmost importance. And, seeing as how Gwaine was the only one who could answer them, visiting him was, in fact, a _wonderful_ idea. He turned on his heel, tripped over an errant rock, and passed out. 

He woke to light pressing red-hot and insistent against his eyelids, the beginnings of a magnificent headache pounding in his temples.

“I should’ve known you’d take me literally.” 

Was that _Arthur?_ What was Arthur doing in his chambers? Didn’t Arthur know anything about personal space and respect for his fellow man? No—this was Arthur. Of course he didn’t. 

“Ghhrhgrghh,” Merlin replied. He had been going for _Go away, you prat,_ but his mouth was so dry he counted it as a win he could speak at all. 

Someone pulled up one of his eyelids. Merlin saw a flash of colour and movement before it swung shut. 

“Merlin, you’re not dead, are you?” 

Merlin groaned. His eyes fluttered open, his vision narrowing onto Arthur foregrounded against a cloudless blue sky. Someone had taken the roof off of his chambers. Wait, that wasn’t right. He propped himself up onto his elbows and took stock of his surroundings. He lay sprawled in the middle of the courtyard. Curious eyes watched him from all corners, but no one dared approach with Arthur standing over him. With a flurry of panic, Merlin patted down his pockets—

“Oh no,” he breathed, slapping a hand to his forehead. 

“What is it?” asked Arthur. 

“All my money,” replied Merlin, “it’s gone!” 

Arthur smirked. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a seer.” 

Merlin kicked Arthur’s shin. “Did you _see_ that?” The rush of triumph he felt at the thunderous look that overtook Arthur’s face was quickly replaced with dread. Arthur slung an overstuffed satchel off his shoulder and threw it at Merlin. It landed on his stomach, dislodging the previous night’s indulgence. Merlin spent the next several seconds dry-heaving, managing, through sheer force of will, not to be sick all over Arthur’s shoes. 

“Eugh,” groaned Arthur, the great big pansy. He nudged Merlin with his steel-toed boot and immediately leapt away as if he could imagine nothing worse than being splattered with Merlin’s vomit. “Get up. We’re going hunting.” 

“What? Now?! I thought you were sick!” Arthur had milked his cold for all it was worth.

“Not as sick as you are. And yes, now, Merlin. We need to make the most of the daylight.” He held a hand over his eyes and peered up at the sky. 

“But you gave me the night off!”

“Yes, the _night,_ Merlin, not the day.” 

“I’m going to dance over your grave.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I have to—uh,” Merlin floundered, “go and see Dave?”

Arthur squinted down at him. “Dave, the shoemaker?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes. I need new… shoes.” 

Arthur shook his head. “Well, it’ll have to wait until after our hunting trip. Cheer up, Merlin! You’ll feel better once you’ve shot a couple of deer.” He paused. “Once _I_ ’ _ve_ shot a couple of deer.” He gave Merlin another nudge. “I can dress myself today. Just have the horses ready in an hour.” 

With that, he walked away, leaving Merlin to his misery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no gwaine in this one :( but i promise he'll be in the next one! 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed reading arthur as much as i enjoyed writing him. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who left comments & kudos on the last chapter!! your support is single-handedly getting me through exam season. i appreciate u sm <3
> 
> let me know what you think (:


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